In the Bleak Midwinter
by Rambling Scribe
Summary: *Minor spoilers for 9.8* "Hello, this is Santa," states a familiar voice.  "Operation Mince Pie is on." Christmas with Harry and Ruth.  Fluff trimmed with angst.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC.**

**A/N: Minor spoilers for 9.8. Christmas with Harry and Ruth – mainly fluff but a bit of angst here and there. I shall try and finish this before Christmas, snow and festive mayhem permitting. **

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Harry rolls on to his right side and peers at the alarm clock on the bedside table; the red digital display informs him that it is 6.43 am. By a lot of people's standards it's an ungodly hour to be awake for a normal Saturday, let alone Christmas Day. He closes his eyes; he's still not used to having lie-ins despite being in the seventh week of his suspension. The unwelcome thought that he should take advantage of the opportunity to do what he wants whilst he has the chance pushes to the forefront of his mind. The inquiry into his career is moving with surprising alacrity and the chance of a prison sentence is becoming more likely. He sighs; he knows he shouldn't dwell on the idea that that the next ten Christmases might be spent in a jail cell but it's difficult not to be pessimistic. Especially as he's on his own.

-x-

Ruth switches the kettle on and reaches for the teabags and the teapot; today she will appreciate having the time to make and enjoy a pot of tea. She's expecting a phone call but it's still a little too early and, like Harry, she's also trying to push away pessimistic thoughts. In particular, the nagging fear that not only will her plan fail but she'll be found out. Then she will be faced with the prospect of unwelcome visitors, Christmas Day or not.

A distraction is required so, as she waits for the tea to steep, she wanders into the living room and switches the Christmas tree lights on. Beth had been right to insist on getting one; it brightens up a perennially dark corner of the room and brings some seasonal cheer to the small flat she calls home.

Ruth bends down to look at the small pile of presents under the tree. The uppermost one has a post-it note attached to it that reads _'Open me first'_. It's Beth's handwriting but Ruth doesn't remember seeing either the gift or the note before. She guesses her flatmate must have added it to the other presents just before she left the previous evening. Smiling, she does as instructed and opens the parcel. It's a CD of traditional carols, sung by King's College Choir, and attached to it is another note that says '_Hope these are the right ones. B x_'. Ruth is touched that Beth not only remembered the vague conversation they'd had several weeks ago but has gone to the trouble of finding the CD for her.

As the opening notes of _Once in Royal David's City_ fill the room, Ruth curls up on the sofa with her cup of tea and immerses herself in the pure voices of the choir.

-x-

Having abandoned any hope of going back to sleep, Harry paces restlessly around his kitchen, occasionally sipping at a mug of black coffee. Scarlett stands up in her basket, barks once, and then sits down.

Harry looks at her. "Is that your less than subtle way of telling me it's time for a walk?" he asks.

The dog barks again, gets out of her basket and stands in front of him.

"I'll take that as a yes," he replies, leaning down to scratch Scarlett's ears. The dog's tail starts to wag, vigorously. "Daft puppy," Harry says, affectionately. "All right then. Let's go and see if there are any squirrels in the park for you to chase."

It's cold out, colder than he'd expected but Harry zips his jacket up fully and puts his gloves on. Christmas Eve's snow showers have left a light dusting on the cars and pavements but it has turned icy. He stops at the bottom of the steps and, on the pretext of ensuring Scarlett's lead is firmly attached to her collar, surreptitiously checks to see where his watchers are parked. The surveillance on him, put in place as soon as he was suspended, has been constant but has remained at a distance. Today though, there seems to be no sign of them. Doubtful that he's been granted a Christmas reprieve, Harry starts walking towards the park, discreetly checking all the vehicles he passes.

-x-

Ruth is busy trying to decide between porridge and toast when her phone rings. She grabs it from the worktop and gabbles a breathless 'hello'.

"Hello, this is Santa," states a familiar voice. "Operation Mince Pie is on."

"Funny boy," she replies, relieved.

"I think you mean '_Thank you, Santa_'," Dimitri teases.

"Thank you, Santa," Ruth parrots back at him. "You're sure?" she continues, more seriously.

"Absolutely. He's got a free pass for the day."

"What about the souvenir pictures?"

"Don't worry, my little helper has sorted those out."

Despite knowing she shouldn't, Ruth laughs. "Poor boy. I hope you haven't called him that to his face."

"He's too busy being a super-geek to notice."

"Tut tut, Santa."

"He loves it," Dimitri retorts, chuckling. "You all set then?" he asks, his voice becoming more serious.

Nerves prickling in anticipation, Ruth answers, "Yes. All set."

"I hope he appreciates it."

"I hope so too."

-x-

Harry swears as his foot slips on a hidden patch of ice and he's forced to grab a low hanging tree branch to stay upright. "Bloody dog," he mutters, under his breath before shouting, "Scarlett! Come here, now!"

Eventually, he finds her standing in the stream at the far end of the park. Despite being wet, muddy and obviously cold, the dog is more interested in barking at a grey squirrel perched high in an oak tree than getting out of the water. Carefully picking his way through a tangle of brambles and frozen, half-rotten leaves, Harry gets as close as he dares to the icy stream. "Come on, Scarlett. Out, now."

Finally giving in to the realisation that the squirrel has outwitted her, this time at least, Scarlett does as she's told and begins to head towards Harry. Unfortunately, she discovers getting out of the stream is nowhere near as easy as getting into it had been. She yelps as her paws lose grip and she slips back towards the water.

"Stay there," Harry commands, edging closer to the stream. He ends up lying flat on his stomach and slowly inching towards the dog until he's close enough to grab her by the collar and haul her back to him.

Making it back to terra firma on legs that are wobblier than he'd like to admit, Harry sets Scarlett down on the ground. She thanks him by shaking herself, vigorously, splattering him with droplets of cold water, mud and other detritus.

"You're a bloody daft dog, do you know that?" he says, once again picking up the shivering mutt. "It's a good job I love you otherwise you'd still be in that stream." He unzips his coat enough so that he can tuck the cold, grubby dog inside and starts to walk home, holding her close to him and hoping it's still too early for anyone else to be around.

-x-

The taxi is waiting, as planned, two streets away and Ruth hurries towards it as quickly as she dares on the icy pavements.

"Hello, Darren," she greets the driver as she gets in. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Ruth."

"Thanks for doing this. I hope your wife doesn't mind you working today."

"Nah," Darren replies, cheerfully. "I think she was glad to get me out of the house for a while."

Their route is vaguely circuitous but the traffic is light enough for any tail to be easily spotted. There are none, much to Ruth's relief - not that she doubts Dimitri's or Tariq's abilities, but she is still glad to be able to see for herself that their plans are working.

Darren drops her at the park gates, albeit reluctant to leave her on her own in the deserted street. Ruth mollifies him by agreeing to text him when she reaches her final destination. She says her goodbyes and heads into the park.

**

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More soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. (I have asked Santa, though.)**

**A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. Here's chapter 2 – I hope you like it. **

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Beginning to feel a little foolish, and regretting the speed with which she had sent her text message to Darren, Ruth presses the doorbell for the fifth time. She discreetly checks the street again, wondering if Dimitri's earlier confidence had been misplaced and the watchers have returned. But all appears to be in order so that can't be the reason the occupant of the house is not answering the door. Aware she's woefully lacking in the Plan B department, she starts to slowly descend the stone steps.

"Ruth?"

Harry's voice stops her just as reaches the pavement.

She turns around and looks up at him. "Merry Christmas, and, er…surprise!" she says, with a degree of forced jollity. It's the first time she's seen him in seven weeks and she has an overwhelming urge to run up the stairs, put her arms around him and hold him. And be held by him.

"Yes, surprise indeed," he replies, slightly dazed by her arrival at his door.

Neither of them say any more; instead, they stand in silence, watching each other until Ruth begins to slowly climb back up the steps. The movement galvanises Harry into action and he invites her in. He has a quick look up and down the street to ensure no one is observing him and his unexpected guest and then firmly shuts the front door.

"How long have you been ringing the bell?" Harry asks, divesting Ruth of her coat.

"Oh, just a couple of minutes." She smiles, reassuringly, but he's not fooled.

"You look frozen. You sure it was only a couple of minutes?"

Ruth nods. "Yes, really."

"Well I'm sorry it took a while for me to answer-"

He's interrupted by the sound of claws rattling against the wooden floor as Scarlett races out of the kitchen and practically throws herself at Ruth.

"It's this one's fault," Harry says, indicating the dog. "I took her for a walk and the silly creature decided to go for a paddle and got stuck. I had to rescue her and we both ended up cold, wet and covered in mud."

"Oh dear," replies Ruth, crouching down to fuss over the excited animal.

"By the time I'd finished washing the muck of her, and myself, the bathroom was in a bit of a state. So that's what I was doing when you arrived. Cleaning the bathroom, I mean." He pauses. "And here I am wittering on instead of offering you a drink, sorry."

Ruth looks at him and smiles. "Don't worry. It sounds like you've had quite an eventful morning."

"We have. But enough of that. Would you like tea or coffee? Or something stronger?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you."

Taking advantage of the fact that her master seems to be distracted by his visitor, Scarlett starts to paw and snuffle at the shopping bag Ruth has brought with her.

"Get your nose out of there, Scarlett!" Harry says, grasping the dog firmly by the collar. "I'm sorry, Ruth. She might only be small but she's a bundle of trouble."

"She can probably smell the duck."

"Duck?" he repeats, bemused.

"Yes, for Christmas dinner. You do like duck, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. But that's not the point," Harry states, a little impatiently. "You just assumed I wouldn't have anything."

"Do you?" she asks, wondering if perhaps she has been a bit presumptuous.

"I've a couple of pork chops in the freezer," he responds, defiantly, and then less defiantly, "Bugger. I should have got them out to thaw."

"Pork chops? For Christmas dinner?"

He shrugs. "I wasn't expecting company."

The stark honesty of his words makes Ruth's heart lurch. "Well, now you do have company," she says, gently. "And, if you don't mind me saying so, a more interesting dinner."

In the kitchen, Harry surveys the groceries that Ruth has unpacked from the seemingly bottomless shopping bag. "You seem to have brought everything we need, apart from Brussels sprouts."

"Oh…sorry, Harry. I hate them."

He feigns disappointment, then grins at her. "Don't worry, I hate them too."

"You had me going there for a moment," she tells him, attempting, and failing, to sound reproving.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist." He winks at her. "Tea, wasn't it?"

**-x-**

They're settled, comfortably, on the large sofa that dominates the living room.

"Quite a coincidence isn't it?" Harry casually remarks. "You coming to visit me on the day my surveillance team seem to have disappeared into thin air."

"Yes, it is."

The look of innocence on Ruth's face would fool anyone else.

Harry sighs and shakes his head. "You'll end up in a lot of trouble if you get found out."

"I _won't_ get found out," she states, a brief flash of anger showing in her eyes. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

"I know you do. It's just…"

"Don't worry," she repeats, more softly. "Everything's been worked out, down to the last detail."

"I don't doubt that for one minute."

There's sincerity in his voice; admiration too, which is clearly not just for her organisational skills.

She blinks and looks away from him for a moment before asking, "How are you? Are you looking after yourself?"

"I'm all right, and yes," Harry replies, letting the change of subject go unchallenged. "Still finding having a lot of time on my hands an odd experience though. I suppose I should make the most of it."

Ruth nods. "Yes, it's quite unsettling at first, being suddenly pulled from your usual routine."

There's silence as they both consider whether they want to pursue this new topic of conversation. Both decide they don't; there are too many regrets, too many missed opportunities, too much left unsaid.

"Another cup of tea?" Harry offers, safely steering them away from dangerous territory.

**-x-**

Harry watches Ruth as she sorts out the various dishes and saucepans needed to cook their Christmas dinner. He likes her being here, in his house; something about it feels right, it always has. Even the first time she visited, when he was just beginning to realise that she was more than a colleague, more than a friend, she had fitted into his home, effortlessly. Would that they could fit into each other's hearts quite so effortlessly.

"Harry?"

He realises she's been speaking but he's not heard a word she said.

"Sorry. What was it you wanted me to do?"

"Peel the veg," Ruth says, concerned rather than irritated. "Are you all right? You were miles away."

"I was just thinking," he replies, adding, "thoughts," in response to her questioning look.

"How very _you_."

His mobile rings, saving him from having to explain himself further. "Ah, my daughter. Excuse me."

Harry wanders out of the kitchen into the hall but Ruth can still hear him. He sounds quite animated, occasionally laughing, and she takes this as a good sign. And then, after a while, it goes quiet. She doesn't think too much of it at first, assuming Catherine is telling him some convoluted tale, but something begins to nag at her; some instinct even she can't define.

He's retreated upstairs, to his study; the door is wide open and he's standing by the window, his back to her, oblivious to her presence. She hesitates on the threshold, of the room and quite possibly something else. But whatever had pushed her to look for him is now pushing her into the study, closer to him.

"Is everything all right?" He doesn't reply so she moves towards him, reaching out to gently touch his elbow to get his attention. "Harry?"

He turns to look at her and she's shocked, and frightened, to see that he's crying.

She grasps his arm more tightly. "What's wrong? Has something happened to Catherine? Graham?"

He shakes his head. "No, no, they're fine, both of them." He sniffs and then rubs the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his tear-streaked face before giving her a weak smile. "I'm being a sentimental old fool, sorry."

"That's allowed at Christmas. Didn't you know?" And then she hastily continues, "not that I think you're old, or a fool."

The comment earns her a small laugh from Harry. "Nice save, Ruth." He looks away from her, turning his gaze back to the world beyond the window but not really seeing it. After a few seconds, he speaks again, hesitantly. "I…I talked to Graham. It's the first time in _years_ that my son has spoken to me on Christmas Day."

The only response is an instinctive one; Ruth takes Harry into her arms and holds him, tightly.

**

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More soonish… :)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Still not mine…**

**A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying this. This was going to be the last chapter but it isn't, so, although I haven't got it finished before Christmas, there will be more. Happy Christmas to you all. :) **

**Note: This picks up straight from the end of the last chapter.  
**

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She's all soft warmth and gentle curves and Harry doesn't want to let go of her but he knows he should. His unfulfilled need for her makes them both vulnerable so he pulls away from her, slowly, his hands lingering on her waist. Ruth looks up at him and her eyes are so full of tenderness that even the simplest of words fail him.

"Better?" she asks, her right hand gently cupping his face.

He nods.

"Good." She smiles at him and then, without the slightest hesitation, kisses him on the cheek, feeling the momentary flexing of his fingers where he's still holding on to her. His warm, stubble-covered skin makes her lips tingle, encouraging her to kiss him again. They stay partially entwined and the urge to take a step further, to push against the bindings of self-restraint, tempts them both. Harry gives in first, pulling Ruth more firmly against him; he's relieved to feel her arms slide around him.

"Thanks," he whispers, hoarsely, in her ear and she hugs him more tightly.

**-x-**

Ruth returns to the kitchen having left Harry to tidy himself up. She's deep in thought when he walks back in and doesn't realise he's there until he says her name. Her breath hitches as she looks at him; not only has he shaved, he's changed his clothes, swapping the old sweatshirt and faded blue jeans he'd been wearing for a dark blue shirt and black jeans.

"I thought I should make an effort," he says. The '_for you'_ is unspoken.

"You look…very handsome."

He laughs, self-consciously. "I don't know about that. But it's nice of you to say so."

"It's true, Harry."

"Well," he begins, moving closer to her, "I may be handsome, in your eyes at least, but I'm a terrible host. Not only have you bought all the food, you're doing the cooking, too. There must be something I can do."

Ruth smiles, grateful for the small shift in conversation. "You can drain the potatoes and parsnips and then they can go in the oven."

He does as she bids, asking afterwards if there is anything else she wants him to do but there isn't.

Feeling surprisingly self-conscious, he presses a fleeting kiss against the side of her face and then steps back a little. "Thank you, Ruth. For…everything."

Ruth can't help feeling a twinge of disappointment that he didn't hold her again or kiss her for longer, or more thoroughly. She banishes the thought. "You're welcome, Harry," she replies, brightly.

Harry watches her, wondering what she's thinking. And then stops wondering, deciding that perhaps he wouldn't want to know after all. "I think it's time for a proper drink," he announces. "Come on."

-x-

Once again they are both seated on the sofa but this time they are closer together. Ruth takes a sip of her whisky, savouring the smoky taste. As she places her glass back on the coffee table, she spots a framed photograph lying on top of a newspaper.

"I don't remember seeing this before," she says, indicating the picture.

Harry picks it up and hands it to her. "It's a Christmas present from my children," he explains.

The photo is of Catherine and a young man whose brown eyes and slight pout unmistakeably mark him out as Harry's son.

"This must be Graham," she states, pointing at the boy.

Harry nods.

"He looks like you."

"Poor sod."

She tuts at him. "He's a good looking boy, like his dad." Harry doesn't reply so she continues, "It's a lovely photograph, of both your children."

He takes the picture from her and looks at it for a few moments. "You're right, it is lovely. The last one I had of the two of them together was from years ago, taken at a funfair. Catherine must have been about eight and Graham was four or five. We had a lovely evening and didn't get home till late. Poor Graham, he was sick as a dog during the night, which, as Jane informed me, was entirely my fault for giving him candyfloss. She left me to clean him up."

"Oh dear," Ruth says, "although candyfloss and small, excitable children? It's a bit of a dangerous combination."

"As I discovered," Harry replies, ruefully. "Anyway, that was a long time ago."

"You and Graham…" She hesitates. "Are things improving between you?"

"Yes, they are. It's slow progress but at least he can stand to be in the same room as me now. I took him and Catherine out for lunch last week and we managed to have a conversation without hurling abuse, or dessert, at each other."

Ruth smiles. "That's good."

"Better than I could have hoped for." He places the photograph back on the coffee table and picks up a small box. "The kids bought me these, too."

Ruth gently takes the box from him and opens it. Inside is a pair of cufflinks, pearl and onyx set in silver. "They're beautiful."

"Catherine's choice I should think but she said they were from her and Graham."

Ruth gives the cufflinks back to Harry and then picks her handbag up off the floor. "I've got a present for you," she says, rummaging in her bag.

"And I've got something for you," Harry replies, "but I've left it upstairs. I won't be a minute."

He returns with her gift, which is wrapped in thick, shiny paper, and sits down beside her again. They exchange presents and then look expectantly at each other.

"Go on," Harry encourages, "open it."

"You open yours first."

He shakes his head, laughing. "We'll open them at the same time. Ready?"

She nods.

"Go!"

Wrapping paper quickly discarded, they both admire their presents. Ruth's gift to Harry is a fountain pen, black with a silver clip and his initials engraved on it, also in silver. Harry's gift to her is a book:_ Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry – Volume 1. _

"Is it all right?" he asks her, shyly. "I-I saw it and thought you'd appreciate it.

"It's lovely, thank you." She leans towards him, intending to kiss him on the cheek again but, somehow, her lips connect with his. It's sweet and gentle, and not in the least bit regretful, unlike the last time, the only time, they had kissed like this.

When they pull apart, they're both slightly dazed but there's a mischievous glint in Harry's eyes.

"I was thinking earlier that I should have got some mistletoe," he says, teasingly, "but it seems I don't need it after all."

Ruth swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. "Do you, er, do you like your pen?" she babbles. "I know you prefer fountain pens and I thought if you had one with your initials on, it might dissuade people from walking off with it."

Harry can't help smiling as the words tumble out of her mouth with barely a pause between them.

"Yes, I do like it. Very much. Thank you, Ruth."

"Good," she replies. "That's go-"

He cuts her off with a kiss, a long, tender, thorough kiss.

"Happy Christmas, Ruth," he says, finally breaking their embrace.

Her face is flushed and her eyes dark with desire; he's tempted to kiss her again, very tempted, but the moment is lost when Scarlett bounds into the room.

"Poor thing," says Ruth as the dog attempts to climb on the sofa between her and Harry. "She must be feeling a bit left out."

"She's had her present." Scarlett barks, as if confirming what he's said. "I bought her a big bag of doggy chews. All different shapes, colours and flavours. They'll last her till Easter."

"That's very sweet, buying her a present."

He raises an eyebrow. "Sweet?"

"Sweet is good, Harry."

"If you say so, Ruth."

"I do," she retorts, trying to suppress a smile.

Scarlett barks again and climbs down from the sofa. She stops by the door and looks back at Harry. He sighs and stands up. "There's always some female telling me what's what," he remarks, following the dog out of the room.

Ruth ignores the comment and leans back on the sofa, hoping he won't be too long. She's quite keen to kiss him again, especially as he's rather good at it.

He wanders back in a few minutes later, clutching his phone. "I've had a text message. From Santa."

"Santa?" Ruth replies, innocently. "Well, that proves it then."

"Proves what?"

"That you really do know everyone, Harry."

"Funny girl," he says, sitting down beside her. "Do you want to know what it says?"

"Is it about your Christmas list?"

"In a way. It says, '_Hoping the well-filled stockings arrived safely_.' Interesting choice of words. '_Stockings_', plural, and '_arrived safely_'."

Ruth was still trying to decide quite what Dimitri had been implying with the description 'well-filled' when Harry nudges her.

"Don't you think it's an interesting choice of words?" he asks. "Santa should know whether the stockings have arrived seeing as he delivers them. And why should I get more than one?"

"Perhaps he thinks you've been a good boy and are particularly deserving this year," Ruth suggests.

"I wonder if he could put a word in for me with the DG."

She can't help laughing at the comment. "Oh Harry, if only it was that simple."

He smiles at her. "If only all things were that simple. Still," he adds, sliding his arm around Ruth's shoulders and pulling her closer. "Santa was right about the stockings, they're definitely very well filled."

**

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Thanks for reading. More after Christmas. x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. Perhaps I should have a New Year's resolution to acquire them…**

**A/N This is the final chapter. Sorry for the delay in posting but I've been ill. Hope it's been worth the wait. And Happy New Year, if it's not too late to say it. :) **

* * *

"I think that's enough, Ruth," Harry says, taking hold of her fingers in a bid to stop them travelling further down his chest.

"Rubbish. You can never have too many buttons undone."

"Undo any more and there won't have been a lot of point me putting this shirt on."

"You're saying that like it's a bad thing," Ruth whispers, seductively, before planting several soft kisses on the smooth skin she has exposed.

"Are you going to tell me then?" Harry asks, deciding it's time to turn the tables on her.

"Tell you what?"

He runs his hand slowly up her left leg, over the material of her skirt, and squeezes the top of her thigh. "If they _are_ stockings."

"Harry!"

He laughs. "It's a bit late for righteous indignation seeing as you've spent the last twenty minutes snogging my face off and trying to get me naked."

"_Me_ snogging _your_ face off?"

"Yes, _you_."

Ruth pouts at him and he knows she's conceded the point.

"You weren't exactly fighting me off," she says, slyly.

Perhaps not _entirely_ conceded the point.

"And I haven't been trying to get you naked, Harry."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Half-naked, perhaps. Not completely naked. I'm not _that_ forward."

"Shame," he murmurs, and draws her into a deep, tongue-entwining kiss.

**-x-**

Finally disentangled from each other, they have returned to the kitchen. The food is ready and the smell of it appealing enough to keep them out of each other's arms, at least for a while.

"You're a complete softie where that dog is concerned," remarks Ruth as Harry pauses from carving the duck to throw a couple of small pieces of meat in Scarlett's direction.

"She deserves a little treat."

"Like I said, complete softie." Ruth emphasises the point by sidling up to Harry and giving his bottom a friendly pat.

He waits until she's distracted with dishing up the vegetables and then sneaks up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her close to him.

"I was hoping for another kiss," he asks, as she attempts to wriggle out of his embrace.

"No, Harry."

"Just one kiss, go on, you know you want to."

"Harry!"

"Please. I'll undo a couple more buttons on my shirt."

"Idiot," she laughs and then capitulates. "One kiss."

He releases his hold on her enough so that she can turn around to face to him. He's true to his word and it is just one, delicate, sweet kiss but afterwards, he draws her close again.

"Can't have a kiss and not have a cuddle; it's compulsory," he states, pressing their bodies together.

Ruth is happy to indulge him and hugs him just a little more tightly.

**-x-**

Dinner is eaten at a leisurely pace; the food is excellent, as is the wine, and conversation comes easily to them. They stop to watch the Queen's Christmas message and then dissect it over Christmas pudding. It's the first year, for a long, long time that Harry hasn't had an advance preview of it so Ruth tells him which parts had got the upper echelons of the civil service palpitating, much to his amusement.

"HM always likes to throw in a couple of things that she knows will get the knickers of Whitehall's finest in a twist," Harry remarks, dryly. "Then there's a bit of too-ing and fro-ing as changes are _suggested_ and the thesaurus plundered for suitable synonyms. She generally gets her way though, God bless her."

Ruth laughs. "I suspect it's revenge for the things she gets made to say at the opening of parliament."

"I suspect you're right." Harry takes a long sip from his glass and looks at her. "This is good, really good."

"Yes, it's very good wine."

"I didn't mean the wine, I meant _this_," he smiles and then motions with his hand between the two of them. "You and me, having Christmas dinner together."

"Ah," Ruth replies, mildly embarrassed. "Sorry." She looks away from Harry for a moment. "You're right. _This_ is really good."

**-x-**

They are well into their second bottle of wine when Harry decides to start clearing the dishes. Ruth stands up to help and finds herself reaching for the back of the chair to retain her balance.

"You all right there, Ruth?" Harry asks, moving quickly to take her arm.

"Yes, thanks."

"Bit too much vino, eh?"

"You kept topping up my glass!"

"Well you kept drinking it," Harry teases, still holding on to her.

"I could accuse you of trying to get me drunk," Ruth shoots back, determined to play Harry at his own game.

"You could, but I wouldn't do that. I'm a gentleman."

Without really knowing how, or even if it was really his doing, Ruth once again finds herself in the not unpleasant position of being enveloped in Harry's arms.

"You see," he says, watching her, intently, "I could quite easily take advantage of you."

"You c-could," she stammers, not in the least bit averse to being taken advantage of by Harry.

"Is that what you want?"

His lips brush over hers as he speaks and Ruth's already shaky legs become decidedly jelly-like. She knows that if it wasn't for him holding on to her, she'd be in a heap on the floor.

"Ruth?"

She looks up at him as he says her name and Harry realises that their flirting, and his teasing, has left them balanced on a knife edge. And the moment he understands that, Ruth also reaches the same conclusion. Harry decides he sees enough doubt in Ruth's face to reign in his desires.

"I think we should go for a walk, get some fresh air," he suggests. She sighs; whether with relief or disappointment isn't clear to him. "I wouldn't really take advantage of you; not unless you wanted me to. And I don't think it counts then, does it?"

She wants to sound exasperated but ends up laughing. "Oh, Harry."

"Sorry." He presses a soft kiss to her forehead. "We'll load the dishwasher and then go for a quick turn around the block. Scarlett could do with the exercise as well."

Ten minutes later they are standing in the hall discussing the suitability of Ruth's boots for the snowy weather.

"They're fine, Harry."

He looks doubtful. "You sure? They look more like a fashion statement than practical footwear."

"Suddenly you're an expert on female fashion."

"I do have some knowledge of women's clothing."

She gives him a very _Ruth_ look. "I'm not sure I want to know." Then she continues, "trust me, Harry. These boots will be fine."

"OK," he says, giving in, "but at least let me find you something warm to put on under your coat."

He disappears upstairs and when he returns, he's wearing a thick, black sweater. "Here," he says, holding out a navy cotton jumper, "put this on."

Once they are ready, they head out into the cold night air with Scarlett in tow. It's been snowing on and off all day and there is now several inches coating the pavements, roads and cars. Ruth wishes she hadn't been quite so adamant about the suitability of her boots as her toes soon feel chilled and she is certain damp is creeping in, making the feet of her tights soggy. She says nothing but holds on tightly to Harry's arm.

**-x-**

By the time they get back, it's snowing heavily again and it's a relief to get indoors. Scarlett scampers about the hall, dragging her lead behind her, evading Harry's attempts to remove the waterproof jacket he had put on her before they went out. Ruth sits on the stairs and takes her boots off whilst surreptitiously watching the antics of man and dog. Eventually, Harry wins the battle; he leans on the newel post, slightly out of breath.

"That dog runs rings around you," Ruth remarks, trying not to laugh.

"She's just a bit excited about having a visitor."

"Of course."

"It's true. She's a very obedient dog, aren't you Scarlett?"

The dog trots up to Harry and sits down by his feet.

"See?" he says, rather smugly.

The effect is then ruined when Scarlett decides Ruth is more interesting and goes to sit beside her on the stairs.

**-x-**

They are back in the living room, snuggled up together on the sofa. The television is switched off after they both decided there was nothing on that appealed; certainly nothing that appealed more than talking to each other. Or flirting.

"What did you promise Santa Dimitri?" Harry asks, gently twisting a lock of Ruth's hair around his fingers.

"What do you mean?"

"For helping out. I hope it didn't involve a kiss under the mistletoe. Or a flash of stocking top."

"A flash of stocking top? You, sweet, old-fashioned thing."

"Don't be cheeky."

She playfully nips his ear. "You love it really, don't you?"

"I refuse to answer that on the grounds that you may be right. And stop avoiding the question."

Ruth kisses him, lazily. "Silly man. I didn't promise Dimitri anything. He wanted to help. As did Tariq and Beth. It's not just me who cares about you."

He's quiet for a moment as ponders what she's told him. "You didn't promise them a kiss from _me_ did you?"

Ruth laughs. "Absolutely not. The only person you're allowed to kiss is me."

"I think I can cope with that."

**-x-**

Ruth wakes, still on the sofa but now curled up against Harry with her head resting on his shoulder.

"Sorry," she says, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"That's all right."

"What time is it?" She answers her own question by looking at her watch. "It's nearly ten. How long have I been sleeping?"

"I'm not sure," Harry lies. "About an hour or so." _One hour and seven minutes, to be precise_.

"What about you? Have you been asleep too?"

"Dozing, off and on."

She frowns. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

He hadn't slept at all; the rare privilege of watching her at peace had proved to be irresistible and he had held her close, enjoying every minute.

Ruth looks around, unsure as to what to do. "I, er, I ought to go."

"You don't have to," he replies, already missing her as she stands up. "Not yet."

"I should, Harry." She smoothes her hands over her skirt to distract herself from looking at him, from seeing the sadness in his face. "I need to get my things."

Harry follows her out into the hall. "Please Ruth. You're welcome to stay. I have a spare room."

She stops and turns slowly until she's facing him. "I don't want to sleep in your spare room."

He tries, unsuccessfully, to hide his disappointment. "Oh."

"If I stay, and I _do_ want to stay, I want to sleep in your room, in your bed…with you."

It feels like the world has shifted on its axis, just a little. But as it starts to spin again, Harry knows he has to be pragmatic.

"This might be the only night we have together, we-"

"Don't say that!"

"We have to be realistic, Ruth. This time next year I could be in Wormwood Scrubs."

She's standing right in front of him, gripping his arms. "You won't! I won't let them do that to you!"

"And I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me," he replies, fiercely. "Not again!"

"Don't you understand, Harry? I can't be apart from you any more."

He's confused. "What? What do you mean?"

"I can't be apart from you, not again, Harry," she repeats, fingers digging into his biceps as she speaks. "So I won't be sacrificing myself. We'll get through this, _together_. You have to trust me. And the others."

There's silence as he tries to make sense of what she's saying. Finally, he understands. She has a plan; he should never have doubted that, or her. He should never doubt her again.

"You've got something in mind, haven't you?"

She blinks a couple of times, trying to quell the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "There are various things going on, Harry. Information is being collated, analysed. Different options are being considered…"

"Members of the Board of Inquiry are being nobbled?"

A small gasp of laughter escapes her lips. "You might think that, I couldn't possibly comment."

"No, of course you couldn't."

She smiles at him. "Let's go to bed."

**-x-**

Ruth is woken from a particularly nice dream involving her, Harry, a warm, secluded beach, and very few clothes, by movement beside her. Cool air tickles over her naked back, making her shiver. A cold hand slides over her stomach making her shriek.

"Harry, you're freezing!"

"I had to let Scarlett out," he explains, ignoring her protests and snuggling closer. "Like me, she's at that age where she has to get up early for a wee."

"What did you do? Go out in the back garden with her?"

"The snow is really deep, almost up to the top of her ears, poor thing. I had to clear some of it for her."

"Didn't you put any clothes on?"

"My dressing gown."

Ruth gives up the unequal struggle with Harry and tugs the bedcovers tightly around her hoping it'll warm both of them more quickly. "Was that it?" she asks.

"My coat and my wellies."

"What a sexy image. Didn't you put your trousers on?"

"Well I wasn't expecting to have to go outside."

"You should be careful, Harry. Going out in this weather with no knickers on. You get could get frozen assets."

"You'll just have to warm them up then, won't you?"

"You'll be lucky."

He's in the middle of saying 'that's what I'm hoping' when she interrupts him.

"What's that noise?"

"My low temperature alarm," Harry replies, deftly shifting position so Ruth ends up lying underneath him. "I still need warming up. A lot of warming up."

"It sounds like my phone."

"It is. I noticed it was beeping when I came back upstairs."

She's quiet for a moment, torn between checking her mobile and submitting to the very welcome attentions of Harry who, she has discovered, is good at a lot more things than kissing. Very good.

"I'd better check it."

He mumbles 'leave it', more interested in placing delicate kisses on her soft skin.

"Harry, it might be important."

He relents, reaches over to the bedside table, retrieves her phone and hands it to her.

"It's a text."

"I guessed that much," Harry says, resuming his exploration of her body.

"From Santa's helper."

He laughs. "What does it say?"

"'_Happy Boxing Day. OMP has been extended until 07:00 hours 27 December._'"

"OMP?"

"Operation Mince Pie."

Harry looks at her. "Dimitri?"

She nods.

"I'll have to find a way of saying thank you to him. And Tariq, who I presume is his little helper?"

Ruth puts the phone back on the bedside table. "Yes, he's been busy photoshopping surveillance photos. Apparently, you've had a very dull Christmas." She hooks her arms around his neck, "_very_ dull."

**-x-**

By the early hours of the 27th, Ruth knows how Harry got the scar on his left hip; she knows why the little toe of his right foot curls in, and she also knows why there's a patch of mottled skin on his lower back. But, most importantly, she knows what it's like to be loved by him, completely.

_The End._

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Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read, and to review. xx  
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